


Chashab

by swirlinglaughter



Category: The Critic
Genre: (and also the only fic that'll ever be in the critic subsection), (probably the only angst i'll ever write tbh), Alcohol, Angst, Cheating, SPOILERS: it doesn't get far but there is an inkling of an attempt, Self-Pity, Suicide Attempt, really passive aggressive now that i'm rereading it actually, there's a lot of things wrong with this boy, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 05:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10455756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swirlinglaughter/pseuds/swirlinglaughter
Summary: חָשַׁב (khaw-shab') - to think, accountJay Sherman returns to his apartment with a steak through his heart and one thought ruminating in his mind.Two words:"Stop thinking."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's a Critic fanfiction. Sorry to ya'll wanting more Chibita, Tumblr really ruined Osomatsu for me so I have no will to continue on with that saga. Maybe someday.  
> I do hope, however, that you'll tune into this fic for a unrecognized franchise that I hold very near dear to my heart. Most of the character's feelings expressed here are much of my own; I can express a lot of uneasy and brazen feelings through Jay that I have never been able to do with a character before. And damn, do I love to analyse his screwed-up priorities and awful balance of self-value and love (particularly attachment and dedication).  
> It's a bit dramatic and nothing I would expect from a legitimate Critic episode, but writing this made me feel better, and hopefully I can reach someone who feels like they're alone in this sort of thinking by posting it.

Jay slammed the door.

This was it. Oh hell, this was it.

He entered his New York City apartment with the usual sour frown on his face, but deeper this time. More genuine.

God, he knew it would never work. Nothing ever works, not for him.

After all of his hard work he was alone again in this small living room, staring at the nothingness ahead except the old couch that he never cared to get rid of, despite all the harsh memories that lay within its fabric. Maybe this time he would if he stopped mourning for so long for once. If he could stop the ache in his chest he’d pick up the phone and call the junk guys; that’s what he agreed to every time.

If this happened so much, why did he still do this to himself? More than any time he had been dumped, insulted, cheated on or lied to, this pain was the worst he'd had as far as he could remember. The same thoughts banged against his skull even though they already had answers. He yelled at them to go away through distractions and assurances, but it only ever lasted for a few moments. Every time the thoughts came back the banter would be even louder and stronger than before.

Why hadn’t he fit the puzzle pieces together earlier? God dammit, it was so obvious now. Everything made perfect sense at this moment, so why wasn’t it clear before he had tied himself into this knot for her?

He really thought that maybe he’d found the one this time. Someone who actually made him feel better about himself, someone who was involved in his interests and loved to hear him talk…… someone who _stayed._

“A whole six months,” he muttered under his breath, plopping himself onto the couch and grabbing for his remote. He turned the television on.

_Thank you Lisa for that report. Our New Year's celebration last night sure was spectacular, wasn’t it?_

_It sure was, Dean. Now here’s Josh for some breaking ne—_

Jay forcibly powered the TV off again and sighed. That year. How quick could a year go from the best he’d had in decades to something full of lies and regret? He lied down childishly and pulled a spare blanket over. God, he couldn’t stop shaking. As much as he'd had his heart broken, this had never happened before. Why was this time so special? Was it because he was cold? Yeah, okay, let’s go with that. He went with that. Jay pointedly threw his blanket up and onto the floor shortly after and shuffled over to the thermostat dial, turning it clockwise a notch. The steam heat groaned on, but Jay still got a chill up his spine. Maybe if he had kept the heat off it would’ve given him something to distract him. His mind wandered back to her.

He could see her walking through the door— her shy posture, her offbeat attitude that made him so nervous every time that it would be the time they would break up… but then she’d always bring out the “I love you’s” and the sweet words and encouragement he hadn’t gotten from anywhere before in his life. He’d forget about everything that worried him until she had been gone for a while, until he was left alone to think. It was a terrible, toxic cycle, but he’d always go through it just for that sweet hour of bliss where he could just _forget_.

_I love her, yeah, but for what reason?_   he'd ask himself on these days as he tried to get some hard-earned rest, but he knew he didn't have to worry about that until she mentioned it. On the next date he would always become anxious that she'd mention it, but she never did; for hours after she left his apartment, he could forget to think until the thoughts returned in his sleep, and he’d think again.

Think.

Think… he hated that concept now. Why have something in your mind that tells you skeptics and makes you believe it to be true? Think. Think…. Maybe if he hadn’t thought so hard, so thoughtfully of her and her safety, he could be living in ignorant bliss right now. Now he was thrown out of that poison cycle, a routine he didn’t even want to be in, and yet somehow he was still unhappy. It was like drugs. Love is a drug. Huh. Drugs.

He made his path to the bathroom and reached for the handle of the medicine cabinet to reveal some medication that he had gotten beforehand, God knows how long ago. It was either an antidepressant or anxiety medication, he had forgotten which; he was feeling better before this, so he hadn’t taken any in awhile.  In a split moment he figured either would be helpful, so it didn't matter.  Jay shortly remembered the time where it was all he wanted, and how much they had helped… well, at least before the placebo effect wore off. He pressed and unscrewed the cap, then poured a random amount into the palm of his hand.

No.

That’s no way to kill yourself. Stupid.

There were people still there, weren't there? It was only… a short amount of time. She hadn't been _everything._ Jay convinced himself of this as he put all of them back but two. For a split second he recalled the dull droning of a telephone, the heavy breaths that came with hardened tears, but he put that thought back away. _Stop fucking thinking,_ he scolded himself. That thought wasn't helpful to him at all right now, at all. He knitted his brows frustratedly and promptly threw the into his mouth. Maybe this time he’d keep the routine. He prayed that something would happen.

He immediately, and unknowingly, half-rushed to the kitchen to grab something to eat. The mellow lights flickered on around him and he winced at the change in brightness. Grabbing the cold handle of the fridge, he swung the door open for something to keep his mind off his sorrows, or maybe, rather, to suffer his pain with him. But to his dismay and somewhat to his amusement, there was no junk food to gnaw on in sight. Shit. That’s right. He was supposed to go to the grocery store _today._ Today, when he was checking to see if that woman he loved so dearly was safe, but she was more than okay. She was having a _blast_ without him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a oaky, brown syrup colored bottle sitting hidden and unused on the top shelf of the old refrigerator. Whiskey, of course. Jeremy had left it there a couple weeks ago, insisting that it would help Jay “harden up a bit." He never understood the notion that alcohol made you look "tough" or "more manly"; maybe he was just too smart for that. But now he had an idea. Briefly he pondered if Jeremy went through this same kind of thing, these same feelings, but then denied it. Of course Jeremy would get upset sometimes; that was normal. But he was so loved, had changed the lives of so many people with his “acting…”

Jay’s watery melancholy quickly boiled into anger. Envy. Out of pure spite he grabbed the cold, textured liquor, not expecting its heavy weight and almost dropping it onto the kitchen floor. He swiftly caught it. Not now. This was the only thing left.

Jay turned to the counter for a dusty shot glass, a sharp, almost electric palpitation shooting through his heart every time he even so much as _thought_ of her. Thinking, thinking, thoughts, think, think, think, think. He reached for a butterknife forgotten in the sink's drainer and popped the cap in one shot. Damn, where was this strength when he needed it? He didn’t care. He didn’t want to think about it. He shakily poured the alcohol and took a swig. Tears stung his eyes, but past the dew on his eyelashes no other water had fallen. He slammed the glass down and thought about what he was doing for just a second. What if Marty was here? _Was_ he here? Dear God, he was already hazy, how much did he take? Was it Tuesday? Tuesday, lunch with Stallone…

He turned his head quickly and in a speed-induced dizziness stumbled over to the calendar. Wednesday. No, he wasn't coming over. But there could be a chance that he hadn't crossed out yesterday's date today, or he hadn't crossed out that date the night before and it was really Thursday…

Thoughts.

“Why do I think so much?” he cried out to no one in particular, roughly seating himself in a wooden chair propped up under the table. He put his hands on his head and closed his eyes… maybe this was all just a dream. He could wake up.

“I give you my life, my trust, and you just lie. You told me goddamn lies just to make me feel better.”

He lifted his head up, but only to fill another shot glass and down it.

“I wasted my time,” he uttered.

That shock piercing through his veins was gone— a positive from the alcohol, he wearily realized. The room was silent, save for the hum of the old ceiling fan's light. Clouds filled the air. Murky, unrecognizable, that kitchen was. It wasn’t his anymore. A draft blew across on one side as the heat crawled by on the other, and Jay knew that he shouldn't have taken alcohol with the medication. What a dumbass, what a dreamer. He could’ve gone to law school and become a respected man, but no. He was usable. Hateable. Not a person to anyone but himself, where he was the top priority. Selfish. But this was working; he insisted. He was free of that pain, just for tonight. And he promised himself that. Now he could remember what it was like. Long moments of a steady heartbeat, nothing to figure out, not a care in the world. But then again, it was nothing like how he felt around her words. Her hollow words. Her plastic words. Her words of pity. Remembering what it was like not to think made him think. How ironic. Jay realized he was in the worst sweet spot now: unfeeling but reminiscent. This wasn't what he wanted, this _wasn't_ working.

Jay noticed the wetness on his sleeve and squinted. Tears. Crying. That's why he hadn't felt any compressions. He had let go. And as soon as he had realized it, the waterworks had doubled. Jay let out a gross whine as he pushed the tiny cup aside.

“Please, God,” he sulked.

‘Maybe this time’ kept playing like a broken record in his head. A warped record, dirty and unkempt in the pits of an attic. Forgotten but remembered. Surreal.

“Just tell me why she put up with me for so long.”


End file.
